


Let My Blood Stain the Sand

by Salazar101



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, M/M, Matador AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4102345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salazar101/pseuds/Salazar101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The coliseum was always used for blood sport.  Dorian danced in the sands using blades and magic to slaughter Qunari like animals.  He wants to be the greatest, and when he fights a Qunari he names The Bull, Dorian thinks he's finally found his equal.  He doesn't realize just how much The Bull will challenge him, inside the ring and out.</p><p>An illustrated fanfiction with pictures by SkyPilot</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let My Blood Stain the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> [Ciciluna](http://ciciluna.tumblr.com/) is the owner of this concept, and drew all the illustrations that accompany this fic! PAY HER LOTS OF LOVE PLEASE!!
> 
> And super special thanks to my beta [ without whom this would be a weaker fic](http://liveloveotp.tumblr.com/)

The coliseum was ancient, a great circular theater wherein rows upon rows of screaming Tevinters let their desire for blood be known. Unlike many ruins in Tevinter, re-purposed as needed, Dorian suspected this coliseum had always been grounds for bloodletting and savage sport. The ring below was sandy, the blood from previous fights already cleaned away by coliseum slaves. It was easy to believe the world stopped at the edge of the building, its walls so high there was no way to see the horizon unless you stood on the very top. From there Minrathous spread out below, a sprawling ancient city teeming with slaves, Soporati, and mages. Ruins lined the entire horizon, jagged and frightening to most, but comforting to the natives. A reminder of their glorious past and bright future. They were always great and they would continue to be so.

The coliseum sat in the middle of the city, and was surrounded by an outdoor market where slaves bought supplies for their masters during the cool mornings before the hot sun could beat down too cruelly upon their backs. Young mages studying in the Minrathous Circle would visit to buy trinkets to send home to family, or perhaps savory street foods to eat with friends. On the outskirts of the normal market stood the slave market, where men and women were bought or sold. An office stood beside the stage, where slaves who had earned or acquired enough money could buy their own contracts and become freed.

Beyond that to the right were the elven slums, where many freed slaves found themselves living after escaping the houses of their rich masters. To the left it transitioned to Soporati housing. By far the largest part of the city was housing for the Soporati, who outnumbered everyone else in the Imperium yet reluctantly served the mages even as they hoped their children might show the talent.

As the city spread out, so to did the decadence of the houses. From nice but fairly modest housing of some praeteri, the lowest of the mages, to the laetans, and finally the rich estates of the ancient houses of Tevinter. Altus mages. Like himself. Dorian lived in the Pavus estate, a sprawling manor ringed with exotic gardens, famous for the peacocks that roamed the expansive grounds.

The coliseum should be no place for an Altus such as himself, or at least that was the opinion of his father. It should be reserved for the Soporati, or the freed slaves visiting from their nearby slums. Halward had always frowned upon the savage sports played out before the bloodthirsty audience. Yet Dorian was hardly the only man of pure blood, the Archon himself had a private booth near the middle of the stands, shaded by opaque curtains and fanned by beautiful elven slaves.

He sat in the very front row, reserved for elite houses or for those like him who were going to...participate later. Dorian was wrapped up in a long black cloak despite the sweltering heat, a hood hiding his features.

Yards below he could hear the gate rattling open as the newest competitor was brought forth. On the other side another gate rose. First was a mage, staff held aloft. Then from the darkness, chains clanking, came a naked Qunari. Dorian shifted in his seat, his experienced eyes taking in every detail with no more than a few quick sweeps. He was bigger than most, looked young and spry, had a pair of great big curling horns. Dorian sat up enough to see the Qunari coming out of his side of the coliseum. Tall, impossibly broad. Older. Scars on one leg and an imperceptible limp. Dorian rose an appreciative eyebrow at the size of his flaccid cock. He had a distinctive pair of horns that curved out to the side instead of back, nearly as wide as his shoulders.

Dorian put mental money on the young one and relaxed in his seat, content to watch the show. The two mages led each Qunari into the center of the ring. The young one was fighting against his chains, looking half mad. They were usually tortured before the fight, to push them into a berserker or ravager state. The old one simple stood there, breathing deep and easy. Dorian wondered if this would be a boring fight, the older one looked as if he'd welcome death.

The mages left the Qunari in the center of the ring, getting to safety. High above in a reserved box, the occupants hidden from view, the booming voice of the Archon himself called for the fight to begin. The mages simultaneously crashed their staffs against the ground, the chains holding the Qunari in place shattering. Dorian leaned forward as the young one lowered his head and went in for the kill. Instead of connecting he was grabbed expertly by the horns, enormous muscles bulging in the older one's arms as he twisted seemingly without effort.

There was a crack that echoed through the coliseum, and before the spectators could properly call for blood, it was over. Dead, shocked silence. Followed by a deafening roar. Dorian stood up, knowing that all the eyes were turning to him. Including the Qunari. Even the Archon. Dorian could feel anticipation building in his gut as he vaulted over the barrier, landing gracefully in the sand with his black cloak flaring dramatically around him. The crowd was losing it, finally a worthy challenger for their greatest champion!

With a practiced flourish that always had the audience foaming at the mouth, Dorian threw his cloak off to reveal his outfit. The Qunari fighter. The mage _taurarius_. He had a red sheet draped over one arm and a short, bladed staff in the other. His uniform was tight and colorful, to better stand out to those even at a distance. Dorian grinned widely, drinking in the screams and applause as he pointed the gem on the end of his staff at the naked, scarred Qunari, “You're quite the powerful bull!” he said, voice magically amplified to reach every greedy ear, “but I am the butcher.”

“Cute,” the Qunari rumbled, “what'll happen when I kill you?”

The crowd gasped and Dorian himself could not stop the surprise from crossing his face. The Qunari never spoke to them. He recovered quickly, whipping the red cloth gracefully from his arm to grasp it in his fist, holding it before him in challenge. “Then you'll be free to go, Bull,” he said, enjoying the screams of shock all around him, “but you won't kill me, in the end you will beg me for mercy.”

The Bull's eyes darkened, anger crossing his face, “Either you, or I, will die before that happens.”

“We'll see,” Dorian cried, snapping the red cloth out as Bull ran for him. His limp didn't seem to slow him down much at all as he charged. Dorian spun in the sand, missing Bull's gasp by a mere hair as his red cloth hid his motions. The Bull spun with surprising grace, coming back in with one hand held out. Dorian knew if he was grappled, he would die, he could still hear the snap of that Qunari's neck echoing in his head. This time he brought the bladed end of his staff down in a slash, using the momentum of the attack to slice open Bull's arm and duck away from his grip at the same time.

The Bull's reaction to pain was not unusual for Qunari, which was to say, he had no reaction at all. Dorian threw himself into the dirt with a graceful roll as a fist whooshed just past him. Dorian had never had a fight like this before, never once had a Qunari matched wits with him battle. Parry, thrust, roll, dodge, duck, slash—they danced together in the sand, Dorian's eyes locked with Bull's. This was a sport for him, a dangerous one, yes, but still a game for the young and rich to play. Bull made this no game. It was a battle to the death. For the first time since donning the uniform...Dorian thought it might be his blood staining the sand today. Instead of the fear he thought this revelation might bring, it only brought elation. A challenge, a real challenge!

“Why would a pretty boy like you be dirtying his hands in a fight?” the Bull growled, feinting with a right hook, one which Dorian very nearly fell for.

“Obviously so more people can look at my pretty face,” he replied with a grin, using his staff to block the real hit coming in from the left. “Wouldn't you like the last thing you ever see to be this handsome profile?” Dorian twisted like a snake, tsking as Bull's fist just barely missed destroying said face. He was dimly aware of the crowd losing themselves around them, but all he could see and hear right now was The Bull before him.

The Bull barked out a harsh laugh, bad leg shooting out to try and kick Dorian in the knees. He jumped back with a breath, swinging his blade down and slicing through flesh. He stumbled, toe catching heel until he was falling back into the sand with a grunt. “Won't be so pretty once I'm done with it,” Bull lifted a foot to crush Dorian's head, and he managed to roll away at the last second. A hand closed around his ankle, dragging him through the dirt then lifting him bodily from the ground. Dorian yelled in shock, scrabbling with his staff as even his head cleared the sand. This monster was supporting his entire weight with one massive arm.

Dorian didn't wait to see what came next, he drew a glyph on his hand with shaking fingers then slammed it against Bull's naked belly. There was a hiss and the sound of cooking flesh. Bull yelled in pain, his own skin ripping away as Dorian was dropped. He rolled back onto his feet, bladed end of his staff swinging around and catching Bull's bicep, ripping apart muscle down to the bone.

“You snot-nosed little brat!” Bull roared, left arm now hanging practically useless at his side.

“Did you forget I'm also a mage?” Dorian panted, wiping the gore on his hand off on his pants. He'd dropped his red cloth at some point. He had to get it back. “You should be honored I even used magic on you,” he said, taking careful steps back towards where his cloth was pooled like blood over the sand. “Usually I just slaughter your kind with only the blade.”

“I'm sure that makes you feel like a big man,” The Bull snarled. He was limping, the cut on his bad leg oozing blood down his shin.

“Your type aren't quite so tall when laying in the dirt with your throats cut,” said Dorian, finally reaching his cloth. If this went on much longer, he was sure he would slip up again due to exhaustion. And even if Bull was severely wounded he was still strong enough to snap Dorian like a twig. Time to end this charade.

The Bull charged him again, and the whole ground seemed to shake under the force of his steps. Dorian darted down, grabbing his cloth and throwing it right into the Bull's face. He twisted to the side, the whole world moving in slow motion as a big hand darted out and grabbed his forearm. Then squeezed. Dorian screamed as the bones in his arm shattered, he looked up just as Bull shook the cloth away from his face, murder in his eyes. Dorian lashed out with his staff without thinking, only wishing to get free before his whole arm was ripped off. The blade caught on the hard pate of horn that stretched over The Bull's forehead then bounced down and gouged out one of his eyes. The Bull roared again, hand releasing Dorian and sending him flopping into the dirt with another scream of agony.

 

A Qunari had never hurt him before. He managed to stumble to his feet, darting forward to send the blade through the back of Bull's knees. He collapsed forward with a cry. Dorian slashed his back, his shoulders, holding his broken arm close to his chest.

Now crippled, The Bull tried to rise... and failed. Dorian moved to stand before him, blood dripping from his blade down the shaft of his staff, pooling around his fingers as they clenched tightly around the wood. “This ends now,” said Dorian, speaking through gritted teeth.

The Bull looked up at him, defiance written in every feature, single eye glaring hatefully.

 

Dorian raised his blade to plunge it into the Qunari's neck and-

“STOP!”

He froze, blade trembling as the rest of the world rushed in. The stands were dead silent. He looked up to see the Archon standing in his booth and quickly bowed to him. “Your Greatness,” said Dorian, trying not to sound as strained as he felt, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I have never before seen a fight like this,” said the Archon, leaning forward against the edge of his private booth, “you both danced so well I could not tell where you started and this beast ended. You have proven yourself superior for the Imperium, as we all knew you would, Pavus...but I would not waste such a beast to your blade just yet. The Qunari lives! I wish to see you both dance again at the Solstice, before a crowd bigger than even you could comprehend! I want the whole world to know that the fighters of Tevinter can defeat any Qunari...without magic.”

Without magic. Dorian felt numb as he bowed in response. Healers were running onto the field. Before they reached them, Dorian looked down at The Bull and saw him smiling. A promise. _You will not be so lucky twice_. It was insanity, but Dorian felt himself return it, he had found a worthy opponent... no one could ask for more. He picked up his cloth and tore a strip off with his teeth, walking over to The Bull without fear. He could barely move the fingers on his broken arm, but still managed to tie the strip to the base of Bull's right horn.

“No one shall fight you but I,” Dorian whispered, his words for Bull's ears alone.

“Then no one will kill you except me,” The Bull said in response.

“Such a sweet talker.” Dorian laughed and then hands were on him, dragging him away. Men and women muttered over his shattered arm. He twisted to watch a Healer kneel before Bull, magic already closing up every cut and knitting together every muscle. Dorian was already aching for their next match.

~

“You will not step into that ring again.”

Dorian sighed into his salad, arm in a sling against his chest as the bones finished knitting together. “Father, I hardly think the Archon would approve of me blowing him off.”

“I will speak with him,” said Halward stiffly, “he would understand. You are my only son I don't want to see you ripped apart-”

“-by savage illiterate monsters,” Dorian finished for him. He speared an olive and pretended it was Halward, “The Bull spoke Tevene, you heard him,” Dorian chewed his olive thoughtfully, “didn't see him read anything, could potentially be illiterate I suppose.”

“This isn't a game, Dorian!” Halward slammed his fist against the table with a rattle of silverware. The slave standing behind him jumped a little in shock, just barely managing not to spill the decanter of wine she held. New girl, no doubt. “You were injured!” He pointed with a fork across the long table to indicate the arm Dorian had slung against his chest. “You almost died!”

“Oh please,” Dorian sniffed, “this? Hardly a concern, Healers say I'll be good as new by tomorrow morning.”

“And next time?” asked Halward angrily, “when it's your neck between his fingers? When the whole world gets to watch my son die before them? What then?!”

“I tire of the same conversation every night,” Dorian snapped, knuckles turning white as he squeezed his fist around his fork, “if it doesn't cease immediately you can watch your son die _now_ with a fork in his throat.”

“Enough with the dramatics, Dorian-”

Dorian threw his napkin over his plate and stood up, chair scraping noisily against the stone floor, “I've rather lost my appetite, good night, Father. You should probably check on Mother to make sure her dinner of nothing but wine hasn't ended with her drowning in the garden fountain.”

He stalked away, ignoring his Father's demands that he return. Dying in the ring was preferable to being talked to death by his Father. Dorian entered his rooms, shutting and warding the door to keep his father from entering to continue their nightly argument. He desperately wanted Dorian to marry his betrothed and take his place on the Magisterium, telling him every day that being a _taurarius_ was a waste of his time, a frivolous hobby for the young and stupid. Dorian would rather die in the ring than spend the rest of his life wishing for death to take him as a couple young brats ran around the house and him and his wife shared mutual disgust for each other.

He undressed carefully, trying not to jostle his arm as he removed his robes. Dorian could still hear the crack, his throat was still sore from screaming. He wondered if the Healers had been able to fix The Bull's eye. Wondered if next time he would die as the world watched and screamed... he fell asleep, the sounds of applause and adoration ringing in his ears.

The next morning he had a slave check on the location of Halward as he exercised his arm, twisting his wrist and squeezing up his forearm to check for pain. Nothing. Magic was truly wonderful. The slave reported that Halward was in his study, which allowed Dorian to slip un-harassed from the manor. If he was to face The Bull in combat again, without magic to fall back on, he would need to practice.

The coliseum was massive on the outside, but inside the walls was where Dorian really thought it shined. It dug hundreds of feet into the ground, hundreds of various rooms at every turn. There were the dungeons for the criminals forced to fight for their freedom: humans, elves, dwarves, and Qunari alike. There were special rooms where professional fighters, _taurarius_ and gladiator-types, could prepare. Dorian went down, down down, until he stopped passing all the various slaves, guards, and other fighters, to a disused training room he had re-purposed for his needs alone. Wooden practice weapons of all types lined the walls, as well as several older weapons that would help him practice with the correct weight.

In the middle of the room, placed upon the straw mats, was a big Qunari dummy made of wood and foam which Dorian could practice on. Since there would be no magic, he chose a dull, double bladed staff. Dorian moved gracefully through his forms, light on the balls of his feet as he twisted and slashed at the dummy, picturing it taller and broader, eyes dark and clever. His Bull was no mad Tal-Vashoth, captured while running from battle in Seheron. No... he was cool and collected, well spoken, and too smart by half if any of his moves in battle were any indication. Dorian lost himself to the motions, free to ruminate on The Bull while his body did all the work for him. He'd never spoke to a Qunari before yesterday, much less had a fair fight.

Dorian was well aware that as the _taurarius,_ he held all the cards. His uniform was not armor, but he wasn't naked like the Qunari were. He had a blade on his staff, he had his magic for when the blade wasn't enough, he had his red cloth to hide his motions and distract the eye. The Qunari had nothing but their horns and their bare hands, weak from days of starvation and torture.

Yet still he had almost been killed. A mindless animal could not go through that and come out bantering. Dorian frowned as he slammed a blade through the dummy's belly. He needed to stop thinking like this, if he kept down this road... well... Dorian yanked his blade free with a grunt, spinning the staff around in his hand. The Bull was a beast. Even a dog could learn to bark in ways that sounded like language... but that didn't change what it was at its core.

Dorian trained for hours, remembering how fast The Bull was in his minds-eye. Slash, roll, parry an invisible attack, go for the tendons, for the joints. Cripple him before he crippled Dorian. They would fight on the Solstice before not just the Archon, but possibly the entirety of the Magisterium. His own father would be forced to watch him fight, and Dorian wanted to prove exactly what kind of man he was, that this was no waste of time. Dorian wanted his father to feel pride when he was fast and strong enough to take down a Qunari warrior without magic.

By the end of it he was breathing so hard he had started to wheeze, dropping the staff to rest his hands on his knees. That was enough for now, he needed a break. Dorian hung the staff back up on the wall before grabbing a clean towel to wipe the sweat off his face. He wrapped it over his shoulders before wandering from the training room. He figured a cool down walk around the mostly abandoned halls before going back to more training would be good. The Bull would take every ounce of skill he'd ever cultivated, there could be no slacking off.

“Hey, kid.”

Dorian froze just past the open doorway, then backtracked quickly. His Bull was sitting on a crate behind floor to ceiling bars. There was a tray beside his feet with the remains of his meal for the day. It looked like it had been a crust of bread and some gruel. Dorian frowned, hesitantly stepping further into the room. “Bull, what are you doing down here?”

“Bull?” He raised his one good eyebrow, resting his elbow on his knee.

Dorian stepped further in, noticing how dank and chilly this particular cell was. Besides the crate The Bull was sitting on there wasn't a single other piece of furniture. Dorian didn't even see any water. He ignored The Bull's question in favor of asking another of his own, “Are they not giving you enough food and water?” he huffed. Dorian ground his teeth together, reaching up to tangle his fingers in his towel. Unbelievable! He couldn't prove anything if his Bull was weak and malnourished!

“Oh no, I'm being very well cared for,” said his Bull gruffly, “this cell has a stagnant pool of water in the corner.”

“Outrageous,” Dorian growled, turning on his heel.

“Hey! Hey wait-”

Dorian wasn't listening, he was already halfway down the hall and up the stairs. The first slave he saw he grabbed them by the arm, ignoring their sound of fright. “Now listen here,” said Dorian sharply, “I want blankets, a cot, fresh food, and water brought down to MY Qunari. I will NOT have him wasting away until the Solstice, do you understand me?”

“My Master-”

“If your Master has a problem then tell them to take it up with me,” Dorian snapped, letting the slave go, “now get to it! I'll be down there waiting, understood?” He watched them nod and run off, probably to their Master first, but Dorian wasn't worried that he'd be disobeyed. He trotted back down the stairs and into his Bull's cell. “There,” he said, laying his towel out over another dusty crate so he could sit on it, “food, water, and some basic comforts.”

“You spoil everyone you're about to fight to the death?” asked The Bull. His voice was a perpetual growl, but Dorian was surprised at how non-aggressive it was.

“I want a fair fight,” said Dorian, crossing one leg over the other almost primly.

The Bull's look was assessing, lips quirking into an unreadable smirk, “Interesting... did you happen to request a game of some sort before I go mad with boredom?”

“Well...we wouldn't want that,” said Dorian slowly, brushing his fingers along his mustache. “You know how to play Duodecim Scripta?”

“I'm a fast learner,” The Bull assured him.

Dorian stood up and left to find a copy of the game. He'd never been in a more surreal situation, which was saying something as he'd once participated in an orgy while high as a kite. Dorian had woken up three miles away from the brothel the orgy had started in, in a hat that didn't belong to him. He searched around for about twenty minutes before he found an old ratty game of Duodecim Scripta with the pieces made out of poorly cut bone and black stone. It had some fairly decent dice so Dorian considered it good enough and tucked the splintering old box under one arm. By the time he returned slaves were bustling in and out of the room with blankets and setting up a cot in the corner of the cell. His Bull was chained to the wall as nervous elves skirted just around him, a guard at attention always just out of reach.

While they got everything set up, even moving another crate between Dorian and The Bull's cell, Dorian opened up the box and began to set the pieces down. Plates piled high with fresh food, a jugs full of water, were brought down and slid between the bars. Dorian was quite pleased to find them obeying him so swiftly. When everything was placed properly the slaves left and the guard unlocked Bull so he could once again freely walk around his cell. He moved his cot closer so he could sit on the edge of it and reach through the bars to take his dice.

“Time to see if you learn as fast as you claim,” said Dorian, flipping a bone disc between his knuckles.

The Bull ate as Dorian explained the rules, he even accepted a fig when Bull offered it to him. True to his word, The Bull was a very quick learner, and before too long Dorian was getting competitive. To Dorian's frustration, The Bull was laid back as he began to crush Dorian round after round.

“It's mostly luck,” Dorian grumbled as he shut the board with a snap.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, big guy,” Bull rumbled, single eye glittering in the low light.

They sat in silence for a moment, and though Dorian tried to look anywhere but at Bull, he couldn't keep his eyes off of him. Bull made it difficult to reconcile his image of Qunari with the man sitting behind bars before him. Bull was just as brutish looking as any of his other countrymen, but he was intelligent and well spoken too. Dorian cleared his throat, “How did you end up here?”

Bull sat back on his cot, arms crossing over his chest, “And what do you care, 'Vint? Three weeks from now, one of us is going to kill the other.”

Dorian opened his mouth. Shut it. Then got to his feet, “An excellent point, Bull.” He shouldn't be sitting down and playing games with someone... _something_...he was going to kill. Dorian practically fled the room, but he couldn't forget the clever spark in Bull's eye.

By the time Dorian made it back to the Pavus estate, his father was already waiting for him at the front gate. He dodged around him, “So sorry Father, I need a bath and can't hang around to have you disparaging my life choices.”

“Dorian,” his father dogged his steps, following him into the manor where their footsteps echoed in the cavernous entry hall. “You were at the coliseum, weren't you? You don't have to do this, you have a betrothed waiting, what will she say if you die?”

“Hmmm, probably 'dodged that fireball' or something along those lines,” said Dorian glibly.

“You have a duty to this family!” Halward sounded almost desperate as he trailed Dorian up the stairs, “you can have someone more to your...tastes...on the side. If only you would marry and have children, continue the Pavus line!”

“What a discrete way to say I liked to get fucked in the ass,” said Dorian, hating how shrill his voice became.

“Dorian you don't have to be vulgar-!”

“Oh please, what's vulgar about that?” asked Dorian coldly, “Just one man enjoying another man's cock!” he laughed a little too loud as he ripped open the door to his room. “The easy solution would be if I just died in the ring, wouldn't it?”

“Dor-!”

Dorian slammed the door in Halward's face, breathing heavily as he leaned against the thick mahogany. If Halward was still yelling, Dorian could no longer hear him. Some part of him still hoped that his Father would drop the betrothal. Surely he cared more about the happiness of his only son than some marriage? Dorian trudged further into his rooms, stripping off his sweaty clothes and losing himself in the steam of his private baths.

The next day Dorian found himself pacing outside of Bull's cell, ranting about his father's insistence on marriage. He had no idea what had brought him here, or why he was dumping his problems at the feet of a Qunari he was destined to fight, but Dorian didn't know where else to go and figured his Bull couldn't tell anyone anyway.

“Why don't you just run away if you hate it so much?” asked Bull, picking his latest meal from his teeth with a chicken bone.

Dorian sputtered at the very thought of it, “Run away? To where? With what money?”

The Bull shrugged, flicking away the chicken bone to let it clatter against the floor. “I forgot, if you live out in the wilds you'll cry because you miss your fancy lotion filled with gold flakes.”

“Oh please,” Dorian sneered, “gold flakes, how gauche, it's diamond specks.”

The Bull laughed and Dorian's sneer turned into a crooked smile. It was an infectious laugh. Dorian threw himself down on the crate with a sigh, elbows resting on his knees as he stared down at the stone. He could hear slight shifting as The Bull pushed himself up and glanced up to see him resting one arm on his thigh as the other picked through the remains of his meal. “Alright, so you can't run away, what are you hoping for?”

An excellent question. Dorian picked at a loose seam on his pants as he tried to figure out the answer. “I suppose...” he said slowly, refusing to look back up at Bull, “I hope he sees me at the Solstice and finally accepts my choices. Drops the betrothal, let's me live my own life.”

Bull grunted, “And if he doesn't?”

Dorian looked up, feeling like a ship lost at sea before a storm, “I don't know.”

He couldn't meet Bull's eye and left, making his way to his training room. Dorian took his frustrations out on his dummy, spinning and slashing, jumping and rolling, until breath burned its way from his lungs in deep gasping pants. Dorian looked up at the dummy, hands on his knees as he tried to get his breath back. He had it posed so it always looked as if it were coming at him, hands held out as if to grab him and squeeze the life out of him. For some reason it was getting harder to picture Bull in its place.

Dorian wondered what any of the other Qunari would have sounded like had they been able to speak. He never saw them before they showed up in the ring, starved, dehydrated, and tortured to madness. Bull's clever tongue was making it difficult to see him as nothing more than a horned animal. Dorian did not see himself as a murderer...or...well... he hadn't. Now he didn't know what he was.

“Master Pavus?”

Dorian turned around, wiping sweat from his brow. The coordinator for the _taurarius_ fights stood in the doorway, hands tucked into his sleeves. His expression was that of a man nervous, but determined to push on regardless. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” asked Dorian, pouring himself a glass of water.

“Master Pavus,” the man bowed, he was a Soporati in the presence of an Altus, “I have some...concern...”

“Oh?” Dorian asked, brow raising as if they didn't both know what he was talking about.

“It's about the Qunari... the resources you're giving him are usually reserved for our fighters. The Coliseum knows exactly how much to feed and water them to keep them alive before a fight, you are giving it... food in excess.”

“I _see_ ,” said Dorian, he took a step forward, letting an ambient energy build around him. Invisible, but it would make the hair on the back of the Soporati's neck stand on end. “So you think that hardly any water and some crusts of bread will keep my Qunari strong before the fight?”

“S-strong?” the man took a single step back, “we don't want them strong! They are monsters, he would be too strong already.”

“So what I'm hearing is that you think the Archon wants me to fight a malnourished, half-dead Qunari for the Solstice? You think that will make a good fight for his Majesty?” Dorian released a little more energy, savoring the way the Soporati shivered, glancing this way and that as his nerves shattered.

“No! No of course not I-I just... never mind! We will continue to send down the meals...i-is there anything else?”

It was the little things in life. Dorian smiled sweetly, “When you bring him his next meal, bring me one as well... and a nice set of _Tali_.”

The Soporati coordinator bowed his way back into the hallway then Dorian could hear him run the moment he was out of sight. Dorian let the energy around him dissipate, finished his water, and got back to training.

Hours later found him sitting across from Bull with a Tali set sitting on the table and each of them enjoying a delicious meal of finely seared steak in a spicy sauce, over brown rice. Dorian explained the rules of Tali between bites, showing Bull all the different marks on the bone.

“So it's Knucklebones with a pretentious name,” said Bull.

“You know this game?” Dorian asked, affronted, “then why the hell did I have to sit here and explain it to you?”

The Bull laughed, that same booming, infectious laugh that always forced Dorian to smile in response. “Maybe I just liked listening to your voice,” he replied, voice dipping into a lower register that did things to Dorian's stomach.

He'd been overtly sexual from a young age, probably too young, but all Dorian could do was gape in response. “ _Vehendis_ ,” he muttered at last, “o-of course, it is a fantastic voice.” It was weak, and they both knew it.

“So let's play,” said Bull, taking undeserved mercy on Dorian.

They picked at the remains of their meal as they threw the Tali down on the crate between them, the little bones filling the room with clicking and rattling. Nothing was said between them in the beginning, beyond swearing when the bones did not roll like they wanted.

“I have a question for you, Dorian,” said Bull, face twisting into a frown as he rolled poorly yet again.

“Yes, I was born this good looking,” said Dorian automatically, tracking their scores on the crate itself with a charcoal stick.

Bull smiled and shook his head, “Not up for debate, big guy. I heard your conversation with that guy. You know, it is _odd_ that you're making me stronger for a fight where you have no magic to back up on. I have more food and water than I ever did before our first fight, and a cot with blankets! Are you hoping to get killed?”

“No,” Dorian snapped, clutching a handful of Tali, “I just... I didn't want to watch you waste away for three weeks. You want me to stop?”

“Oh?” Bull cocked his head, “for someone who slaughters my countrymen for fun, you're awful soft on me. Is it because I can communicate with you?”

 _Yes_. “No,” said Dorian.

“Would you slaughter Orlesians in here just because you don't speak their language?” asked Bull.

“The Orlesians, as obnoxious as they are, have some excellent colleges and have contributed-” Dorian shut up as Bull laughed at him.

“What do you think we do over in Par Vollen? Snuff the dirt for truffles? Par Vollen has a 100% education rate. Everyone has a job, a place to call home. You think the Qunari you killed were dumb animals? They probably had more education than the Soporati torturing them for battle.”

“Ridiculous!” Dorian snapped, getting to his feet and feeling obligated to defend his home, “Tevinter has excellent education-”

“For Soporati?” asked Bull slyly.

“Well...” Dorian stumbled forward stubbornly, “there are places of education for them...all the nice places are for mages, yes but...ah...” Dorian sat back down with a heavy sigh. “Alright, so there are a thousand things wrong with Tevinter. I've known that for years.” He let the Tali fall from between his fingers and they clattered against the wood crate. He'd lost his desire to play. Dorian said nothing more as he gathered the bones up into their pouch and set them aside. He left for home with his head spinning. His whole world felt as if it was shifting under his feet and soon he'd fall into an abyss from which he could never climb.

Despite telling himself he was done talking to The Bull, Dorian kept coming back, day after day. He taught Bull three more games during the week, and even managed to win a couple of them. To leave the house he had to duck his Father, they hadn't spoken since their fight and Dorian was hoping he'd just decided to drop the whole conversation.

A week and a half before the Solstice found Dorian eating a hot chicken curry and playing _Felix Sex_ , a modified version of _Duodecim Scripta_ , with Bull. Dorian had upgraded the crates to an actual wing-backed chair and a table, while Bull still sat on the edge of the cot, reaching through the bars to roll his dice and move his little bone pieces. Dorian had found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Bull whenever it seemed like the Qunari wasn't paying attention to him. He'd been exercising in his cell, and Dorian had been spoiling him rotten with increasingly good foods. Since being put in the cell, and under Dorian's protection, he seemed even stronger than he had in the ring. His muscles thick cords through his arms and chest, a little bit of fat over his belly and thighs that Dorian sometimes pictured grabbing up in his hands.

“Dorian.”

Dorian blinked and tore his eyes away from the muscles in Bull's shoulders with a self-conscious blush. He cleared his throat, picking up his dice and giving them a roll, refusing to look up from the table and see if Bull was watching him. “It looks like I might win this one,” he said, voice sounding weak even to his own ears. He was not becoming attracted to The Bull. Dorian knew he was perverted, but this was akin to bestiality...right?

“You know you don't have to try and sneak peeks,” said Bull, and when Dorian looked up he was flexing with a wicked smile, “you can stare at _this_ all you want, big guy!”

“As if,” Dorian sneered, though the sting was ruined when he stared anyway, “I, ah... can get any man I want, and they don't have _horns_.”

Bull shrugged, bending forward to grab up his dice, “Their loss. But if you ever want to do more than look...” he smirked at Dorian, single eye bright in the dim light, “you know where to find me.”

This was some...Qunari manipulation. Convince Dorian to get close and then snap his neck. He was absolutely not imagining what that thick black stubble on Bull's face would feel like scraping against his smooth skin. Dorian looked away quickly and returned his attention to the game, trying to pretend the funny feeling in his stomach was from the spicy curry.

The second he won the game, Dorian left for his training room, using the dummy to work out all his growing frustrations. He was getting proficient with the double-bladed staff, and soon would begin practicing with the real thing instead of this dull old one, even if it meant destroying his dummy in the process. While in the middle of practicing his slice and rolls, there was a tap on the wall and a hesitant, “Master Pavus?”

Dorian rolled gracefully back onto his feet, grabbing a clean towel to wipe the sweat from his face. The Soporati coordinator Dorian had bullied was back, this time with a letter clutched in one hand. He held it out, looking at Dorian as if he might bite. “A message from your Father, Master Pavus,” he said as Dorian plucked up the letter, “and a request for... a favor, from me.”

“A favor?” asked Dorian idly, ripping open the envelop to read whatever inane prattle his Father had decided to write instead of yell at him over a dinner table.

“Yes... one of our other _taurarius_ injured himself but the match is still scheduled and we have quite a crowd waiting. I was wondering if... perhaps in return for all the food we are giving your, ah, Qunari... you might fight this one fight?” The Soporati had his hands clasped before him, eyes lowered respectfully to the floor.

Dorian looked from his fearsome dummy, to where Bull's cell lay just beyond his training room. No doubt he was eavesdropping on all of this. He was frustrated to find that the thought of fighting didn't bring him the same thrill... no! He wouldn't let The Bull ruin this for him! Dorian nodded curtly at the coordinator, “Allow me time to dress...this will be a good opportunity to practice without magic.”

The Soporati was so grateful that he bowed the entire way out, showering Dorian with praises he wasn't even listening to. He looked down at the letter, lips twisting into a frown when he realized Halward was telling him he had to join him for dinner today, as he was throwing a small soiree and Dorian's betrothed and her family would be there. Well...he supposed he couldn't avoid Halward forever. Dorian pinched the paper between his fingertips and let it burn up in a flash of fire magic.

He used a basin of cold water and some supplies he always kept in his training room to apply his mustache wax and some basic make-up to look good for the crowd. Next the colorful and very tight pants, the shirt, the vest, the jewelry, the supple calf-skin boots. Dorian left the training room with his head down, refusing to glance at Bull's cell as he walked past.

Bull didn't call to him.

Dorian could hear the angry crowd as he approached the gate, all of them screaming for blood as someone tried to assure them a fighter was on the way. He straightened up, head held high as he walked from the tunnel and into the searing light and heat of a Tevinter day. Dorian donned the old familiar attitude of a _taurarius,_ smiling and waving nonchalantly at the crowd as a Qunari snorted and roared in the other corner of the giant ring. It didn't fit like it used to, just a few days ago Dorian had worn this like a second skin, but now it pinched and chaffed as if he'd become a bigger man.

He was handed his chosen weapon, the double-bladed short staff. He spun it around to test the weight of it, feeling for differences from his practice blade. Next the vibrant red cloth which he draped over his arm. As usual the sound of the crowd faded into the background, leaving him staring at his opponent. Now that Dorian was familiar with what a healthy Qunari male looked like, he could tell how weak and starved this one was. Knowing his opponent was half dead before he even entered the ring stole much of the enjoyment Dorian had once gotten out of the fight.

This Qunari was smaller than Bull, his horns filed down close to his head. He was held in place with enchanted chains until Dorian gave the mage holding him the go-ahead to let go. The Qunari wrenched against them, staring up at the jeering crowds and stomping his feet. Dorian frowned, there was rage there, he'd been tortured to madness, but beyond that... fear. Terror. This Qunari was starved and beaten, now thrown into the midday sun with hundreds of jeering Tevinter spectators surrounding him. Dorian swallowed down the feelings of guilt and nodded at the mage holding the chains.

This was the life he'd chosen, he would not throw it all away now just because he'd been playing games with a Qunari.

When the chains fell away the Qunari stumbled at the loss of weight, spinning around as he snorted and tried to figure out where to go. Dorian put two fingers between his lips and blew out a shrill whistle, so loud it filled the stands. The Qunari whirled on him, wild-eyed, then charged. Dorian spun at the last second, feeling the skin of the Qunari's arm brush past his vest. This fighter preferred to stay close, which was fine with Dorian as it gave the crowd a better show. He danced around the Qunari, weak and stumbling, as it tried to hit Dorian but only ever hit the red cloth, if he hit anything at all.

After fighting The Bull this almost seemed too easy. There was no finesse to this Qunari's attacks, no plans, no tricks. Dorian ducked, bobbed, and weaved in and out of forms so quick that half the time the Qunari didn't even seem to realize where he was. The crowd ate it up, screaming their praises into the ring with a wild abandon. It didn't thrill Dorian the way it once had. The two of them were never more than a foot apart at any time, each twisting and turning with increasing speed. The Qunari was growing desperate. Dorian used his blades, spinning them this way and that to leave shallow, bleeding cuts all over the Qunari's back and legs, not that would slow him down, but it looked good for the crowd.

He felt as if he were just following the motions.

When the Qunari began to slow, exhaustion stronger than rage and fear, Dorian sliced through the back of his knees, sending him into the dirt with a roar of pain. He walked around, red cloth over one arm and his bladed staff tucked under the Qunari's chin to lift his head. Dorian met his eyes, saw rage drain away into acceptance. The intelligent man's response to facing down death. At least it's over. Dorian pressed the tip of his blade against the Qunari's adams apple, paused as their eyes locked, and then jammed the blade through his neck.

The Qunari collapsed into the dirt with a spray of blood, Dorian twisting to the side to keep any from splattering over his outfit. He watched the sand soak up the blood before squinting into the stands, holding his bloody staff high in the air as people screamed their praises. He screamed on the inside at the thought of doing that to his Bull.

The inside of the Coliseum was mercifully cool and quiet, thick stone muffling the sounds of the crowd just above. Dorian ignored praise from some guards and quickly headed down the stairs. He had to change and return home for his Father's soiree. Dorian would be loathe to miss out on such a huge disaster of a night.

“Dorian.”

Dorian paused, eyes on the floor as he stood just past Bull's room. He should continue on, just get dressed and then leave. Yet he found himself turning around and slipping inside anyway. The Bull was standing by the bars, fingers curled around the cold iron as his single eye seemed to pin Dorian in place just behind his chair. “I do have places to be, you know,” Dorian said, eyes on the game of _Felix Sex_ they still had set up on the table.

“Hmmm,” Bull sounded assessing, and when Dorian glanced up at him his eye was narrowed as if in thought. After a pause Bull smirked, the tension draining out of the room, leaving Dorian feeling weak kneed, “You'd better get to those places then,” he said at last.

Why did he even care about the opinion of this Qunari? Dorian had to stop coming down here before he did something he regret. He left the room without a word, washing up in a basin so he could look presentable for this party. He buckled and strapped together his robes, checked his perfect hair one last time, and then left without sparing Bull's cell a backwards glance. If only because he put in the effort not to.

By the time Dorian arrived to the soiree, most everyone was already there. Halward looked physically relieved to see Dorian glide through the door into their dining room. Perhaps he'd thought Dorian would blow him off and refuse to come. A tempting thought to be sure. “Father,” said Dorian, eyes taking in every other guest. His betrothed was supposed to be here, but he didn't see her around. She'd be easy to spot, the one with vultures circling her. While he did not see Felissa Everens around, her mother and father were by the table speaking softly with his mother, Lady Aquinea. She wasn't drunk, yet, but she did have a tall glass of wine in one hand. Dorian wondered if her hand would be stuck in that gripping claw should a glass of alcohol ever leave it.

“I am glad you've come, son,” said Halward, placing a hand on Dorian's shoulder and squeezing.

“Hmmm, how could I miss it?” Dorian drawled, tilting his head to smirk at his Father, “the food at the coliseum isn't half as good.”

Although the company was better... Dorian caught the eye of Felissa's twin brother Feliss and grinned. Now there was a man he wouldn't complain about being betrothed to since birth, he was a little shorter than Dorian, lithe and beautiful. He had big green eyes and black hair that fell in tight ringlets when it wasn't pulled back in a dashing ponytail. Dorian peeled away from his Father's side, ignoring his sound of exasperation, and took Feliss by the arm in a perfectly brotherly way to lead him out onto a nearby balcony for some privacy.

“Well well well, I didn't expect you to show up,” Dorian purred, backing Feliss against the railing and pinning him there with an arm on either side of him, “you hate parties.”

“Hate parties,” Feliss agreed with a smoky voice, “ _love_ this ass.” He reached behind Dorian to cup each cheek in a hand and squeeze, hauling him in closer.

“You know I'm sure we could get to my rooms unseen and-”

“Dorian.”

Dorian and Feliss wrenched apart, on opposite ends of the balcony by the time Felissa stepped into view. She looked between both of them with a smirk curling her perfect red lips, then gave Dorian a raised eyebrow as Feliss made some excuse and slipped away. Bastard! Dorian could see people watching them just over Felissa's shoulder so he stepped forward, taking her by the hand and hauling her in close until their noses brushed and he could smell her subtle perfume.

“Left the vultures at home, did we?” Dorian asked, placing a hand on her hip as she wrapped her arms around Dorian's shoulders.

“They were sick of catching you with my brother, I gave them the night off,” she said softly. She had big green eyes and long curly black hair. She was gorgeous, intelligent, a powerful mage, and Dorian despised her. She returned the sentiment.

“Perhaps you just didn't want them to see the new nose you're going out to get in the morning,” Dorian replied, well aware of the eyes watching them closely, “which you need, by the way.”

Felissa laughed as if Dorian had said something funny, even as her eyes narrowed hatefully, “My darling Dorian, I look forward to watching you get cut down on the Solstice.”

“I look forward to dying before ever having to marry you,” Dorian replied. They separated, Felissa's hips swaying as she left Dorian on the balcony. He let out a long, slow breath, turning around to lean against the balustrade. So much for Feliss; after that close call he wouldn't go near Dorian for the rest of the night.

“The Everens are getting restless.”

Dorian squeezed the stone under his fingers and let out a muffled sound of disgust. This was the least private balcony in the entire Imperium, apparently. “I don't particularly care, Father,” said Dorian curtly, staring down into the garden below as his Father stood just behind him. “If they tire of waiting they can make some other poor fool suffer Felissa's tongue.”

“Dorian,” there was something odd about his Father's voice, “I am giving you this last chance. Accept tonight, assure them you're serious about the betrothal.”

“No.” Dorian said without turning around.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence before his Father finally said, “Very well... you leave me little choice, Dorian.”

Dorian laughed bitterly. As if he would know anything about having a choice.

The rest of the night was frightfully uneventful. Dorian and Felissa exchanged insults under the guise of brushing noses and gentle smiles that hid the cut of their words. Feliss kept his distance, and though Dorian had predicted it he was still upset. As far as Tevinter soiree's went, no one had ended up dead or with an extra limb, so it was unusually quiet. Dorian excused himself early, citing a need for rest before he continued his training, and invited them all to witness his triumph over the Qunari on the Solstice.

When he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, he couldn't even imagine killing The Bull the way he had once dreamed. As his eyes grew heavy, Dorian made a mental note to bring in a Chess set... see how smart the beast really was...

The Bull, as it happened, was already familiar with Chess. Dorian wondered if his fight yesterday would be brought up, but Bull seemed happy enough to bullshit about nothing in particular as they played together. Dorian tried to be subtle about the way he watched the Bull's naked chest move with every breath, but if the smirks he kept catching were any indication, The Bull was on to him.

“So what were you up to last night that you had to take off so soon?” asked Bull, cornering Dorian's Mage with his Templar.

Dorian let out a sound of disgust, capturing Bull's Templar at the expense of his Chantry Brother. “Little get-together my Father arranged, hoping I would finally agree to settle down with my betrothed and have some brats.”

“Considering your...tastes... I can only image how that went,” said The Bull, flexing his arms pointedly at the word 'tastes'.

Dorian stared and then shook his head with a reluctant grin, “Yes, well, suffice to say the night didn't end with us declaring our wedding date. Father said it was my last chance, so perhaps the betrothal will finally be dropped and I can focus on other things.”

“Like trying to kill me on the Solstice.”

Dorian's hand jerked and he knocked over his Archon, sending a few pieces rolling off the board and onto the floor. “ _Vishante kaffas_!” Dorian swore, bending down to gather up the little pieces, staunchly refusing to look at Bull as he did. This was ridiculous, he was letting a Qunari get under his skin. A big, striking...funny...surprisingly gentle... Dorian placed the pieces back on the board, finally accepting that he had a problem on his hands.

“Don't be like that, big guy,” said Bull, speaking lowly as if Dorian were a frightened animal.

“I suppose I never considered... the reality of what I was doing,” said Dorian, eyes on the checkered board. “I thought you were all akin to animals.”

“No more than anyone else,” said Bull quietly.

“I...” Dorian looked up, finally meeting Bull's eye, “I don't want to kill you.”

Bull reached out through the bars, curling his fingers around Dorian's wrist to gently tug him to his feet. Dorian thought about fighting, about wrenching away. He could, Bull's grip was loose, as if he knew Dorian might want the option. Instead he pressed himself against the bars, finding Bull's lips right before his, breath hot against his face. He could just get his face in, cheekbones pressed against the iron as his Bull captured his lips in a kiss. It was uncomfortable, the bars cold and unforgiving against his skin, but Bull's lips were surprisingly soft and coaxing, nothing like Dorian had pictured.

A tongue slipped between his lips and Dorian happily opened his mouth to it, sucking lightly, letting his own tongue slip alongside it. If the bars weren't between them Dorian was sure he would have melted into Bull's arms and urged him towards the cot. As it were, he pulled back for a gasping breath, pulling far enough away to keep the bars from bruising his face.

“Fuck,” Dorian breathed, touching his lips, tasting Bull on his tongue. He looked up at him, gripping the bars tightly. How cruel was fate that Dorian should fall for a Qunari, however reluctantly. Yet he felt trapped on all sides. He couldn't release Bull from the cell, he couldn't tell the Archon he wouldn't fight. He couldn't let himself be killed by Bull's hands.

“I think we're at an impasse,” Bull rumbled.

Dorian stepped away from the bars, guilt gnawing at his belly, “I suppose...we shouldn't do that again.” It made the inevitable too painful.

The Bull nodded, face stoic. There was a moment of silence, tension thrumming in the air as Dorian told himself to turn around and walk out. Instead he darted forward, Bull's arms wrapping around him and hauling him against the bars as they kissed once more, teeth and tongue clashing. Dorian panted, reaching through the bars to grip Bull's horns, standing on his toes even as he hauled Bull down and ever closer. The Bull's hands slid down Dorian's back to squeeze his ass, forcing out a small yelp that was quickly swallowed by Bull's demanding mouth.

“If there weren't bars between us...” Bull growled between kisses, “this tight Tevinter ass would be stuffed full of my cock by now.”

Bull was wearing a ratty pair of pants now, but Dorian could still remember the size of his cock from their first fight. He let out a shuddering breath at the thought of it hard, thrusting inside him. Dorian broke away from Bull's mouth just to breathe, slowly pulling himself away until he could stumble back into the chair. “This is so wrong,” he said, more to convince himself than anything else.

“You strike me as the kind of man who's inclined to do the forbidden,” said Bull lowly. Dorian's eyes were drawn to where his hand was rubbing his obvious erection through his pants.

“I...” Dorian clenched his fingers around the arm of the chair, leaning forward greedily as Bull pushed his pants down. He gripped the base of his cock and pulled it free, stroking from root to head, pinching the foreskin shut before pulling it back down again. Dorian's mouth watered, the look Bull was giving him a clear invitation. _Have a taste_. Dorian slowly sat up, already picturing how that big cock was going to taste, how the weight of it would feel over his tongue-

“Master Pavus?” Dorian sat down quickly, the mood shattering around him like a broken glass. He crossed his legs tightly as The Bull hurriedly tucked himself away and was laying with his back to the bars by the time the guard walked into the room.

Dorian cleared his throat, hands clasped in his lap to further hide his straining erection, “What?” he asked curtly.

“Your father-” Perhaps it was the daggers Dorian was glaring at him, but the guard paused in the doorway as if sensing he had interrupted something. He swallowed and pushed on, fearing Magister Pavus more than his Altus son, no doubt. “Your father has demanded you return to the estate immediately for important business. There is already a carriage awaiting you.”

“I have a horse,” Dorian snapped uncharitably. His erection was fading.

“H-He was insistent on the carriage, Master Pavus,” said the guard, standing his ground. Dorian reluctantly respected him for that.

He thought about refusing but ultimately decided he shouldn't burn every bridge he came to. Refusing the betrothal yet again had been rough on his father, perhaps it was time to be a dutiful son in other ways. Dorian let out a slow breath, “Very well, I will be up shortly, make sure the horse I have stabled here is well cared for until I return.”

The guard bowed as he left, clearly relieved to be leaving, “Of course, Master Pavus.”

The moment he was gone Dorian let out a frustrated groan, legs uncrossing and head falling against the back of the chair. The world conspired against him at every turn! When he looked back down, Bull was sitting on the edge of the cot, expression surprisingly serious. “Dorian...” he rumbled.

“When I get back,” Dorian interrupted, pushing himself to his feet and stretching until he felt his back pop, “I expect to pick up where we left off.”

“Something doesn't feel right,” said Bull standing up as well. He reached through the bars but Dorian stood just out of reach. “Why don't you stay here?”

“It's just my Father,” said Dorian with a frown, “I'm sure he only wants to yell at me about last night, or maybe it's some unrelated yelling about something else.

The Bull's gaze was so intense he had to avert his gaze, reaching up to curl his mustache around his finger almost nervously. The Bull didn't know his life or his father. He knew only what Dorian had told him, which to be fair, was quite a lot over the days they'd spent together. Dorian left without another word, but some of Bull's dread had transferred over to him. His Father complained about Dorian's life choices, but ultimately it was because he loved him, there was nothing sinister about Halward's intentions. He merely thought he knew what would make Dorian happy more than Dorian himself did... and had a desperation to continue the Pavus legacy. Which mattered more?

The carriage waiting for him was the small black one, the driver had his hat pulled low to hide his eyes but Dorian still gave him perfunctory greeting before stepping into the carriage. The windows were blocked off, that was the first thing Dorian noticed before he sat down. Something...was wrong... he turned around to get out just to have the door shut and locked in his face. “HEY-!” something exploded in the corner of the carriage, filling it with dust...sleeping...powder... Dorian passed out, his last thought of his Bull.

It was impossible to know how much time had passed. Dorian woke up feeling groggy and stuffed up, limbs too heavy as he tried to get up. He was laying on...the floor...? He groaned, rubbing grit out of his eyes and blowing his nose into his sleeve to try and get the powder out of his sinuses. Dorian stared at the ceiling as he continued to wake, realizing he was in his Father's study, a place he was rarely allowed as a child, but spent many hours in as an adult learning the ways of the Magisterium. He loved this room, it was warm tones filled with warmer memories. In the study they never fought. Why was he laying here?

With a tired hiss he pushed himself up on his elbows, head spinning at the movement. The sleep powder used on him had been powerful... he was shocked he was even awake.

“Dorian?”

Apparently he wasn't the only one shocked. Dorian froze as Halward walked into the room, leading an elven slave who was sobbing softly to herself. “Father?” Dorian asked, voice still thick with exhaustion, “What's going on? What are you doing?”

Halward looked...guilty. “I didn't want you awake for this, but it's too late to turn back. Be still, Dorian.” He pulled the slave over, and Dorian finally noticed the knife in his other hand. Dread curled cold and heavy in his belly, heart beginning to beat like a drum in his ears.

“Father... don't,” Dorian struggled to stand, body still fighting against him. As he rose to one knee he finally noticed he was in the middle of a circle, ten feet by ten feet, filled to the brim with various runes. Dorian didn't know all of them, but he recognized enough to know something wasn't right. A rune for change, a rune for attraction, a rune for women, a rune for obedience. He sucked in a horrified breath, betrayal like a lance through his heart. “You're trying to change me,” he breathed, looking back up at Halward.

“Dorian!” Halward snapped, “Hold still! This is for the best!”

“The best for who?!” Dorian yelled shrilly. “You told me blood magic was a last resort for the weak and foolish!”

Halward looked ashamed, eyes darting down. Dorian hoped for a moment that he would let the slave woman go, that he'd gotten through to him. Until Halward looked back up, face set into a stubborn grimace. “I was wrong.” He raised his knife and slit the slave's throat.

Dorian leapt into the air at the same moment, leaping for the edge of the circle to try and escape. The woman's blood splashed over him, and the moment it touched the circle the runes lit up, the air thrumming with incredible power. Dorian rolled free right before the runes burst, sliding over the wooden floor to slam against Halward's desk. The circle thrummed and throbbed with blood magic, the elf twitching and gurgling in the center, her blood feeding the magic continuously. The runes pulsed, searching for the vessel they had been directed to inhabit. Him.

Halward lunged for him, hands slippery with blood as he grappled with Dorian, trying to force him back into the circle. “Dorian, stop fighting me!” Halward yelled.

“Why are you doing this, Father?!” Dorian was younger and stronger than Halward, but he was also covered with blood and still reeling from the sleep powder. Not to mention he had a knife lodged in his heart. He'd always assumed that his Father had loved him as he was... perhaps exasperated...but...to use blood magic, to risk destroying everything that made Dorian who he was at some faint shot of continuing the Pavus line...

“You brought this on yourself, Dorian!” Halward grappled him, slowly pushing Dorian towards the glowing circle. “You refused the betrothal, you're going to destroy everything I've done for this family!”

“I would have made you proud in other ways!” Dorian screamed, digging his feet into the floor only to slip and slide dangerously in the blood smeared over the floor. “I thought you loved me!”

“I do,” said Halward harshly, pushing Dorian closer and closer, “and that's why I need to do this.”

He was at the very edge of the circle, shaking with exertion and rising onto his toes before his heels could cross over. One more push and his life could end one way or another. Dorian thought of his Bull, alone in that cell, never knowing where he'd gone. Left to die without Dorian there to try and find a way to free him. With a roar Dorian crouched onto his haunches, grabbing Halward around the knees before lurching to his feet. He teetered briefly before finally catching his balance and tossed Halward over his shoulder and into the circle.

Dorian didn't wait around to find out what would happen--if anything--he ran for the door as fast as his feet could carry him. Slaves cried out in alarm at his appearance, dripping with blood and wild-eyed as he fled the estate. Dorian grabbed the first horse he came to in the stables, hopping on without saddling it and galloping towards the coliseum. If anyone else was frightened by his startling appearance, Dorian moved too quickly to catch their horrified reactions. He dismounted while the horse was still moving, darting into the front archway without sparing a glance for the stable boy that cried out in shock.

He went down, down, down, legs shaking so bad he nearly fell down the last flight of stairs. Dorian was breathing hard when he finally lurched through the door to Bull's cell room, no doubt looking as if he'd been mortally wounded.

“Dorian? Fuck! What happened to you?” The Bull was on his feet, hands clutching the bars as Dorian stumbled closer, tears tracking down his cheeks.

“ _Kaffas_ ,” Dorian swore, falling to his knees before the bars of Bull's cell. “I...” he curled up, unable to say aloud what he had just lived through.

The Bull seemed to understand, and he lay on the floor of his cell, wrapping one arm around Dorian's waist through the bars. It was uncomfortable, Dorian's back pressed against the iron, but Bull's big hand splayed along his belly, a comforting anchor he so desperately needed right now. They lay in silence for hours, Dorian dozing on and off until the blood became tacky and unpleasant. He sighed and pulled himself away from Bull, feeling calm but oddly detached, hollow.

“You alright, big guy?” asked Bull softly as Dorian got to his feet, outfit stiff with dried blood.

Dorian wiped at his eyes, “I'm going to bathe and change,” he said, proud of how steady his voice was, “then I... I'll tell you what happened.”

He walked to his training room, his basin filled with fresh, if cool, water. Normally Dorian would take the time to heat it, but he didn't feel like expending even the most basic energy needed for a fire spell. He washed in the cold water, stripping naked and tossing his bloody clothes into a pile. He'd burn them, they weren't worth salvaging. When all the blood, tears, and snot had been washed into the increasingly filthy water, Dorian changed into a comfortable pair of training pants and a loose shirt. Unstylish, but it didn't matter. The Bull certainly wouldn't care.

When Dorian walked back into the room, feeling clean and little more like himself, Bull was sitting on his cot, face solemn as he looked up at Dorian's approach. Dorian walked to the bars without fear, “Come here, you big lumox,” he said softly. When The Bull stood before the bars, his heat radiating comfortingly against Dorian's skin, he reached up, fingers curling around the red ribbon still tied around Bull's horn. He ripped it off and let it fall to the floor. He wouldn't kill Bull, they'd figure something else out.

“Dorian...” Bull grabbed his hand, holding it carefully, “what happened?”

“You were right,” Dorian sighed, resting his forehead against a bar, “something _was_ wrong. My Father...Halward...he tried to...” Dorian's words caught in his throat with a strangled sound, voice cracking in response, “...change me...” The Bull made a small sound, his arm wrapping around Dorian's waist to pull him a little closer. “He was going to use blood magic...we fought and I got away before... before anything could happen.”

“What are you going to do now?” asked Bull softly.

Dorian shrugged despondently, pulling back just far enough to look up into Bull's face, “I... I'm not sure. There is nothing for me here anymore. I had so many plans, so many dreams... and without the Pavus name I am nothing and nobody. My Father would never take me back after that, if I'm really unlucky he'll blame the murder of the slave on me.”

“Then travel with me,” said Bull, and he sounded surprisingly eager, “I was on my way to Orlais to join a mercenary troupe when I was captured.”

“You want _me_ to join a mercenary group?” Dorian normally would have scoffed out right, but he was low on options...and he wanted to see where this thing with Bull would go. Could he really stand to be camping out in the wilds fighting bandits and monsters like some Soporati commoner?

“If you're scared I'll protect you, little mage,” The Bull growled, scarred lips quirking into an infuriating smile.

“I can take care of myself!” Dorian snapped, “need I remind you who almost beat you the first time we fought!?”

The Bull laughed, the full-bellied laugh that soothed Dorian's ruffled feathers and made him feel as if he would do anything just to hear it again. Being a mercenary wouldn't be so bad. He could still use his skills, he could love who he wanted and would never be important enough for anyone to care. Dorian reached up to grab Bull by the horns, hauling him down into a kiss, trying to get a taste of that laugh. The kiss was messy and desperate, lips clashing almost impatiently between the bars.

“Alright,” Dorian breathed, pulling back to nip at Bull's chin, feeling the coarse black hair under his tongue, “I'll get you out of here and we'll go together to Orlais.”

Iron Bull captured his lips in one last kiss, hand slapping down hard on Dorian's ass. That pain taking his mind off the pain still sharp inside of him. “Just you wait, Dorian, you'll see soon how fun being a mercenary can be.”

“Hmmph,” Dorian stepped away from the bars with a grin, “don't go anywhere, I'll be back.”

Dorian washed and changed into some of the nicer clothes he had squirreled away in his training room. He could only hope his father wouldn't try to come after him, or convince the coliseum to kick him out. No one wanted to be on the bad side of Magister Pavus... but Dorian was willing to bet that Halward's fear of being found trying to cast blood magic on his own son would keep him under the radar for a bit.

Up top was the usual bustle of activity. Dorian gracefully, dodged around slaves and guards as they escorted prisoners or gladiators or other _taurarius_ around. Dorian didn't care about any of them, what he wanted was the Warden. The man who held the Master key. The key that could open any cell and any door. The Warden himself was a powerful mage of some repute, which just made everything more complicated. Each cell, including Bull's, was enchanted to warn him of any tampering or attempted unlocking with unauthorized keys. Dorian could potentially grab a key from one of the guards who fed Bull and emptied his chamber pot, but that key was only for Bull's cell, and Dorian would need to get through more than one locked door if he wanted to get both of them out without just wandering into the street.

Even further below Dorian's practice space were further tunnels that led out all over the city. No doubt left over precautions from when the city was at war. However they were locked up tight, and Dorian knew of only one key that could open them up and let him and Bull escape unseen into the night. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

The Warden was so big he could almost be considered part Qunari himself. A rumor Dorian had actually once spread himself. Any mention of it sent the Warden into a frothing rage. Dorian found him sitting in his office, his single key clipped to his belt. It had a fairly unique shape... but Dorian memorized it as he stood before the Warden's desk and asked about the preparations for his Solstice fight. The Warden kicked him out after about half an hour of idle prattle, but it was enough for Dorian.

He left the coliseum, the last of his money jingling in his pockets. Minrathous was a riot of sights and sounds, Soporati and mages mingling in the city market, screaming about their wares to anyone who would listen. Dorian dodged around a cart filled with savory street foods, spicy meats skewered on sticks and passed out to anyone with a coin to spare. Dorian thought about bringing one back to Bull, but decided against it, having his Bull fed was one thing, but to bring him little treats was another. Dorian didn't want to raise more suspension than was already floating around.

What he wanted was at the very end of the market, a grumpy mage blacksmith who glared down at Dorian the moment he approached. “Waddya want?” he boomed.

“Services, my good man,” said Dorian cheerily, undeterred by his grumpy countenance. “Just something small, looks like-” he sketched out the shape of the key on a nearby chalk tablet, “-this. Inside an iron ring about this...big...” Dorian finished drawing his replica of the key, handing over the chalk tablet when the blacksmith grabbed it.

The blacksmith grunted as he looked it over, “I can do this easy, but I had a big order of weapons come in and your order will have to wait for a bit.”

“Ah...can I get an estimate?” asked Dorian, trying not to let his nerves show.

The blacksmith shrugged, “Give me four days then come back here and I'll have this for you.”

Four days. That was cutting things a little close... but Dorian didn't have much of a choice. This man was the greatest mage blacksmith in Minrathous, and Dorian knew magically smithed metal had a different feel than other smithing techniques. He needed this key as close to the original as possible. So Dorian took out the last bits of gold to his name and dropped them on the counter. “Four days,” he said, “I will be back.”

With that done, Dorian didn't yet head back to the coliseum. Instead he walked to the Minrathous Library, full of ancient tomes and spellbooks. Only those with connections could enter, and Dorian's Pavus amulet was more than enough to get him through the front door and into the enormous hall of books. He might as well take advantage of his name while he still could. Dorian climbed the twisting staircases, his feet echoing in the enormous marble hall, to reach the archive which held old blueprints, many to builds that no longer existed, or had been renovated so many times the blueprints no longer applied.

By the time Dorian found blueprints for the coliseum he was covered in dust and could not stop sneezing, earning him a few angry hushes from some Magisters a few floors below. Dorian replied with a few choice words as he unrolled the ancient parchment. Parts of it were worn away by time, and Dorian was fairly certain some of the lower tunnels were either collapsed, or added after this blueprint had been drawn. He found his training room and Bull's cell, tracing the corridors further down until he hit roughly where the locked gate was now.

From there the tunnels split into three different tunnels. One seemed to dead end, unless it had been since added to. The left one went further under the coliseum and split into so many more tunnels that Dorian knew he'd never remember where to go, if any of these still existed. The right tunnel split only twice more. Through the locked gate, right, left, right, freedom. Again assuming any of these were still serviceable. So many ifs. Dorian decided the best thing he could after getting the key would be to explore the tunnels himself. Once assured that he could find his way out Dorian would unlock Bull's cell and they could be long gone by the time anyone realized Bull was gone.

Dorian rolled up the old parchment and slid it back into the mostly unorganized mess. He grabbed a random blueprint to leave on the table, should anyone decide they needed to know his business. The Magisters glared at him as he walked back down the spiral staircase, and since Dorian no longer had much to lose, he gave them a choice hand signal that had them throwing their hands over their mouths at the disrespect. Even if they didn't already recognize him as Dorian Pavus, his amulet would be more than enough to give him away.

Feeling more prepared, Dorian made his way back to the coliseum with a spring in his step. The pressures of Tevinter society didn't seem to apply to him anymore. He was an Altus here, the greatest of the great, and he would soon be giving it all up to traverse Orlais with a Qunari and some unwashed mercenaries. Perhaps he could talk The Bull into finding out where is old mentor Alexius was. Somewhere in the South, but that was the most Dorian could figure out.

The world seemed so much bigger than Dorian had ever imagined. He'd never once as a child dreamed of leaving Tevinter, much less with a Qunari he was quite fond of. His whole identity was wrapped around taking his father's place in the Magisterium, or perhaps going straight for Archon. Now all those plans he'd built up around himself were crumbling, and Dorian knew the moment he switched keys with the Warden they would cease to be entirely. What sort of man would step out from behind that rubble, Dorian still wasn't sure.

He slowed his walked, the crowd parting around him as if they knew just by looking at him that he was too important to be crashing into. He looked at the stalls, at the merchants, he looked further up to the way the ruins turned their skyline into the jagged teeth of dragons. So when the sun set or rose it looked like fire burning in their massive skeletal heads. Something inside of him, something he was trying to push back, stabbed at him. He'd be leaving behind all of this. Everything he'd grown up with and loved. There was a great deal wrong with Tevinter, Dorian wasn't so foolish as to pretend his world was flawless... but to leave it behind...

He took a deep breath, lowering his eyes to continue on his way. It was out of his hands anyway, after what his Father had done he couldn't stay here, could he?

The Bull was getting their Chess board set up when Dorian walked back into the room. Several of the pieces were too far away for him to reach, so Dorian swooped in to gather the rest and place them with gentle clicks over the board.

“How did it go?” asked Bull, sitting down on the edge of his cot.

“I put everything in motion,” said Dorian, relaxing back into his chair, one leg crossed over the other, “but it'll be four days before I can do anything.”

The Bull let out a slow breath, one eye closing for a moment, “That leaves us very little time.”

“I know,” said Dorian softly, “but this is the best possible plan. We'll just have to be patient.”

The Bull's eye opened, lips twisting into a wry smirk, “I doubt I'll be going anywhere in four days time. I can wait a little longer if it means not killing you in the ring.”

“You wouldn't kill me!” Dorian snapped, _taurarius_ pride rearing its head. “I would almost certainly win, even without magic!”

The Bull threw his head back with a laugh, “Oh please, I almost killed you while starved and weakened by torture. I'm perfectly healthy now,” he flexed, as if Dorian hadn't already felt that strength fucking him stupid against the table, “and I would tear you apart, little _saarebas_.”

“Hmph,” Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, giving Bull a haughty smirk, “I'm no chained Qunari mage, my Bull, but without my magic I am still faster than you, and my blade cuts deep.”

“I suppose it's a good thing we won't find out,” said Bull lowly.

Dorian curled his fingers around a pawn, making the first move with a small smile. They played Chess and spoke amicably. The Bull had been to Orlais before, though only briefly, and he regaled Dorian with tales of stuck-up Orlesian nobility talking around him as if he didn't speak the language. He talked about their architecture, about their food, about the Exalted Plains... Dorian's own mind didn't have time to think too much about anything else, and he fell into a surprisingly dreamless sleep in his chair, Bull's voice fading out around him.

The next morning he awoke stiff and in pain, neck cricked from sleeping in the wing-backed chair instead of the cot in the corner of his training room. The Bull was already awake, doing silent push-ups in the corner of the cell. Dorian watched him through slitted eyes, breathing evenly as his gaze traced the muscles while they worked. He was half hard from sleep, and the trauma that had clung to him yesterday felt oddly distant while his eyes were on Bull. The entire world stopped at the door. Dorian heard echoing footsteps and shut his eyes again, relaxing against the chair as if he were still asleep. The footsteps reached the door...paused.

“Just slide it in,” Bull's voice was very soft, as if he didn't want to wake him.

There was a clatter of tin on stone, a scraping sound. The Bull murmured a quiet thanks before the steps shuffled out of the room and down the hall. Dorian opened his eyes, watching Bull bend down to pick up a tray of bread and olive oil. Fuck he was good looking. Dorian hadn't ever found a Qunari attractive before, and if pressed he wasn't sure if he could name what it was he found attractive about Bull. His face was too long, his face scarred from the missing eye, his horns were anything but graceful. Perhaps it was the sheer size of him? Though Dorian had always found himself drawn towards slim young men in the past. Men like Feliss who had muscle but were lean and flexible and whom Dorian could push around a little.

He couldn't push around The Bull. He could make him laugh, he could listen to his stories, he could feel safe under his arm. Dorian shifted and sat up with a groan as his neck and back popped unpleasantly.

“Well well well,” Bull rumbled, sweaty and sitting on the edge of his cot as he dipped his bread in the oil and munched it down, “look whose done pretending to be asleep.”

“How could you possibly know?” Dorian pouted, slowly getting out of the chair so he could stretch his arms over his head, standing on his tiptoes as he tried to get flexibility back in his spine. He should have never fallen asleep in here.

“Change in breathing,” said Bull, tapping on of his pointed ears as he set the tray aside, only half-eaten. “I was trained to recognize it.”

“Seems you were trained to do a lot,” said Dorian, playing at idle and failing ever so slightly. He looked down at their chess set, still left where they had stopped last night in a draw. He picked up a Mage, fingers running along the smooth piece as he watched Bull from under his lashes. There was far more to him than he let on, he was different from the other captured Qunari, to be sure, but Dorian still didn't know enough about Qunari culture in general to tell what it was that set him apart. He spoke at least three languages, Tevene, Orlesian, and Common. He could pick up differences in breathing, resist torture and starvation. What else could he do? Where had he learned to do all this?

And Dorian was going to drop everything and run away with this man?

No! He set the chess piece down stubbornly. He couldn't afford to let those thoughts take him over. There wasn't a choice. Dorian moved closer as Bull stood up, staring down at him with his one eye glinting in the low light. He wasn't handsome... and yet Dorian couldn't help but reach through the bars to run his fingers down Bull's sweaty chest and belly. There was still a lot to learn... but Bull had had plenty of chances to hurt him and hadn't taken any of them. That should be what was important.

Lust sat heavy in his belly, only fed by the smell coming off of Bull. He was surprisingly cleanly while locked up, so his sweat smelled fresh, thick, masculine. Dorian took a deep breath, prick tenting his pants as he stepped a little closer, rising up on his tip toes to bite at Bull's chin. He wanted to stop thinking. About anything. His Father, Tevinter, the Archon, the future he had spent his whole life racing towards. Everything.

He melted forward against the bars as one of Bull's hands grabbed his ass and squeezed, swallowing his groan with a kiss. Anyone could, in theory, walk down here and see them. However Bull had been fed moments ago, his tray of bread and olive oil still sitting half-eaten beside his cot. Why else would they be bothered?

Big hands shoved his pants just far enough down to expose him to the air, cold iron bars digging into his hips. Dorian shivered, Bull's heat wasn't enough to chase away the cold of the cell, he had no idea how Bull just wandered around shirtless all the time. Bull's teeth sank into his bottom lip and Dorian lurched back with a small cry of pain, only to have a hand curl around his neck and shove him down to his knees. His breathing picked up as he found himself staring at the tent in Bull's pants, no one had ever pushed him around like this, and Dorian knew he shouldn't find it as hot as he did. If only the bars weren't keeping Bull back from really manhandling him.

With no one running in to interrupt this time, Dorian got a real eyeful of Bull's cock when he pushed his pants down just far enough to free it. Bull gripped the base of it as he leaned against the bars to push the head against Dorian's slightly parted lips. This was so filthy. Dorian opened his mouth further, leaning in to let Bull's flesh stretch his lips wide, jaw aching as he opened his mouth further and further to accommodate Bull's length and girth.

“Get me dripping wet,” said Bull, voice an arousing growl.

“Mmmnnn-cckk!” Dorian hummed then choked as Bull thrust down his throat, eyes watering as spit mixed with bitter precum dripped down his chin. He shut his eyes, relaxing his throat as best as he could to let Bull fuck his mouth, one hand coming up to grip an iron bar in his fist. It was as if The Bull could read his mind, and he wasted no time coddling or whispering. Straight to what Dorian wanted. Dorian let his tongue rub where he could, taking in gasping shuddering breaths whenever Bull pulled back far enough to clear his sore throat. There was no time to think about anything beyond the taste of skin and bitter precum.

When Bull finally back, cock dripping with spit, Dorian panted harshly for breath, resting his forehead against the bars as his whole body shook. He wanted to reach down and touch himself, hand snaking from the bars- Bull's hand tightened in his hair, hauling him up into a messy kiss. Dorian opened his mouth as Bull's tongue slipped in, lapping up the taste of his own cock.

“F-Fuck,” Dorian gasped against Bull's lips, head spinning with arousal.

“Turn around, bend over the table,” Bull growled, pinching one of Dorian's nipples hard enough to make him cry out. Thank the Maker this level of the coliseum was uninhabited. He managed to steal one last kiss, what was it about Bull's lips that made him want to get kissed until he couldn't breathe, before turning around. He knocked the chess pieces to the floor and hauled the little table close enough that he could curl his fingers around the edge with his ass pressed against the cold bars.

The Bull's hands were warm though, and they traced and groped Dorian's ass, slapping just hard enough to send Dorian onto his toes with an embarrassing keen. One hand gripped his hip, holding him close to the bars while the other trickled warm olive oil between his cheeks. Dorian hung his head with a small pant as thick fingers, also slick with oil, probed and prodded, rubbing and relaxing him until one could slip inside him. The Bull was shockingly gentle with him, and Dorian was grateful for the easy pace. He wanted to be fucked hard, but he didn't want to get hurt in the process. The Bull's single finger was enormous by itself. It rubbed his insides, and when it crooked and hit his prostate Dorian moaned, flagging erection once again stirring between his legs.

“Another finger,” Dorian breathed, resting his forehead against the cool wood of the table, “I can take it.”

The Bull hummed, and a second finger pressed against his asshole, slipping in at a maddeningly slow pace that had Dorian's toes curling in his boots. Both scissored and stretched, fucking him open with slow, smooth strokes. Every now and again Bull would crook the fingers to brush or press against that spot inside Dorian that had stars bursting before his eyes and his cock drooling precum over the floor. Only ever enough to keep him on edge, but never bring him to completion. Dorian's stomach was tight with pleasure, a constant throbbing, a heat that filled each limb and made him want to melt against the table as Bull had his way with him.

Three fingers and Dorian moaned at the stretched. He'd never taken more and yet this was just the precursor of what was to come. The Bull was careful with his fingers, working up to moving them faster, rubbing along Dorian's prostate before every scissor. Dorian was sweating hard, hair a mess, sticking haphazardly to his forehead as he whined and pressed back against the bars, begging wordlessly for more when the three fingers became merely a tease.

“Alright, Dorian,” Bull rumbled, his voice causing Dorian to jerk in surprise, “hold on tight to that table.”

“ _Kaffas_ ,” Dorian breathed as one by one Bull's fingers slipped free, leaving him open and wanting.

He didn't have to wait long before the fat, blunt head of Bull's cock was pressing against his loose asshole. Dorian whined, knuckles white as he gripped the table. Bull was slow as ever, but if anything that just drove Dorian further into madness. His asshole stretched wider and wider as the head pushed forward, Bull's hand squeezing his hip hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck.” Bull spat as the crown finally slipped in, “so fuckin' tight.”

His other hand closed around Dorian's other hip, firmly holding him against the bars as Bull thrust forward in short, sharp jerks. The olive oil made him slide in easy, his girth slowing him down more than anything. Dorian panted out Bull's name as sweat stung his eyes, blinking heavily as he rubbed his forehead against his arm. With the bars in the way, Bull couldn't bottom out, but he was so big that Dorian almost considered that a blessing. There was a moment of peace, both Bull and Dorian just panting as he paused, his cock stretching Dorian to his very limits.

“Move, damn you!” Dorian finally hissed, impatience getting the best of him.

The Bull laughed under his breath, pulling back until only the tip still penetrated before thrusting forward sharply. “You're awfully bossy for a bottom,” Bull teased.

Dorian gasped as Bull began to move, rocking forward despite the hands on his hips holding him in place. His cock bobbed between his legs, hard and aching without a single touch, balls drawing tight as it started to become too much. Dorian whimpered and whined, robbed of all thought beyond pleasure, mouth unable to form any word beyond 'Bull' and 'please' and 'harder' all strung together at random between cries of pleasure.

The sound of skin on skin, a sloppy, wet sound, filled the entire room, echoing off the stone to fill Dorian's ears. He could smell his own sweat mixed with the savory scent of olives. Fuck fuck fuck! He wanted to warn Bull, tell him how close he was, but Dorian didn't have the words to do so. He could only moan louder and hope Bull understood. One of those big hands snaked between his legs, and Dorian wailed when his neglected cock was squeezed with a hand still slippery with olive oil. Three hard strokes and he was coming, muffling his sounds by biting into his arm. The orgasm shocked through him like lightening, traveling down his spine and causing his toes to curl and his muscles to stiffen with each pulse of seed that splashed over the floor and smeared along Bull's fingers.

“That's it,” Bull growled, pulling his hand back to Dorian's hip. He started to thrust harder, barreling towards his own end with animalistic grunts and growls that made Dorian's spent cock twitch with tired lust. Dorian could only hold on, gasping weakly as he rocked into the table, causing it to screech loudly against the stone. The Bull finally let out a roar, thrusting in as far as he could one last time. Dorian could feel his prick pulsing, and a bit of hot come dripping out his hole. The Bull rolled his hips lazily with a sigh, hands stroking up and down Dorian's flank as far as they could reach.

Dorian's thighs trembled as Bull slowly pulled his cock free, sending come splashing out of his wrecked asshole to drip into his pants and stain the insides of his thighs. Iron Bull let out a low moan from behind him and Dorian looked over his shoulder, taking in deep breaths through his parted lips.

“I can't wait to fuck you properly,” said Bull, reaching through the bars to give Dorian's ass a little love tap with his palm.

Dorian panted, dropping his head between his shoulders as he tried to gather himself enough to stand. Slowly he pushed himself up, groping for his pants with one hand and pulling them up around his hips once more. The come on his thighs made the fabric of his pants stick unpleasantly, but the dark look in Bull's eyes more than made up for the discomfort. “I'm going to get you out of here,” said Dorian quietly, leaning in for a quick kiss, “and then when we're safe, you can really fuck my brains out.”

“Sweet talker,” Bull growled, nipping Dorian's bottom lip.

Four days could feel like an eternity when impossible plans weighed on the back of Dorian's mind the entire time. He spent plenty of time in Bull's cell, talking, playing games, or fucking. He felt as if the bar-shaped bruises on his ass were permanent by now. Since he still had appearances to keep up, Dorian also spent plenty of time training as if he were still planning on fighting Bull. Honing skills he knew he'd probably never really use again. He didn't like to spend time away from the The Bull, however, as the moment he was left alone his crushing doubts reared their ugly head, attacking him with the same ferocity he used on his dummy.

By the end of day three, when Dorian was ducking and diving around his abused training dummy, those doubts were screaming in the back of his mind like tone deaf choir boys during a Chantry service. Leave his whole country behind? Travel with a Qunari? Join mercenaries? How could he survive months in the woods, scrounging and scraping by like some peasant? Dorian gave these intrusive thoughts as little of his time as possible, knowing that one of Bull's big smiles would be all it took to harden his resolve. He couldn't stay here, the Pavus legacy was no longer his to worry about.

“Dorian.”

Dorian rolled to his feet in one smooth motion, dropping his practice weapon so when he popped up he had a fireball in each palm, feet spread for support.

Halward held up his hands, breathing slow and easy as he stared Dorian down from the doorway. “Dorian,” he said again, “I'm not here to fight you.”

“Then get the fuck out!” Dorian snarled, letting the fire crawl up his arm. “I'm through with you!”

“Son, please.” Halward's tone was one of hurt, and that more than anything had the fire crawling along his arms to flicker out. Though he did not leave his fighting stance. “I merely wished to speak with you.”

“No more blood magic?” asked Dorian scathingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or are you merely luring me into a false sense of security?”

“I was desperate,” said Halward softly, eyes lowering to the floor. He appeared genuinely ashamed, but he was also a Magister of repute, and Dorian had seen him play other men and women of incredible power like instruments. Dorian knew he was capable of dragon tears. “I made the wrong choice, panicking for the future of my son-”

“Spare me,” Dorian spat, “you don't care about me. Only your legacy, the fucking Pavus legacy. You...” Dorian swallowed, hating the tears that were gathering in his eyes, blocking off his throat, “you wanted to _change_ me!”

“I love you, Dorian,” said Halward, taking a small step forward with his hand outstretched, “I only wanted what was best for you!”

Dorian splashed ice over the floor in warning, and Halward stopped in his tracks. “Say your piece and leave,” said Dorian, voice colder than the ice now spread out over his mat. He was afraid if he let his father any closer he would accept that hug, and then he didn't know what he'd do. The love of a son to a father was hard to let go of, even as Dorian hated himself for it. Perhaps love was not enough sometimes.

Halward took a deep breath, hands clasping before him, “I do not want to drive you away, Dorian. That was never my intention. I have come instead to...to make a deal with you.”

Dorian was intrigued despite himself, “Go on...”

“When you fight that beast on the Solstice I will be there, watching. Should you win I will break off the betrothal. You will be free to do as you please, whether it be continue your...work...here, or finally join me in the Magisterium.” Halward had a twisted look on his face, as if he'd bitten into a lemon. “I will not see my son die in the ring, however. I have spoken with the Archon, should it look like you are losing the beast will be killed. You lose, you will return and accept the betrothal. You will cease this fighting and you will join me in the Magisterium.”

All the hope that had been sucked out of Dorian on the day he ran from the estate covered in blood, came rushing back in with a shuddering breath. He could stay in Tevinter. He could change the lives of hundreds of people by using his power for good. He could end the capturing and torture of Qunari for the coliseum. If he left the practice would continue, and did Bull really want that?

He could fuck who he wanted, he could settle down with a man, or fuck his way through the brothels of the elven slums... and Halward would do nothing, say nothing. Dorian didn't have to give up his dreams of power, of being Archon, of making a difference as a Magister. Halward was offering him everything he had ever wanted on a silver platter.

And all he had to do was kill his Bull.

“How do I know you won't go back on your word?” asked Dorian sharply, feeling as if his heart would beat out of his chest.

“I swear it on the Pavus name, on the Old Gods and the Maker Himself, on Andraste,” said Halward, holding a hand over his heart, then two fingers over his lips. Bound to his word, his word bound to his heart, his heart bound to his soul. To break this would be to break himself. An old Tevinter promise.

Dorian fell to his knees as the strength left his body. Everything he had tried to give up was now once again in his hands... could he really let it go for one Qunari? The doubt that had beat against his ribs since agreeing to leave everything behind was now pressing against his throat. His father was offering him safety, familiarity. Dorian knew what he could accomplish as an Altus, but he did not know what he could do as a mercenary. There was still so much he didn't even know about The Bull, and why? The Bull knew everything about him but Dorian... was he hiding something?

Too many unknowns, too many fears pressing down on him. Halward had come here with everything he had dreamed of since he was a child and laid it at his feet. He'd sworn to uphold his word. Dorian would never have another chance. Was The Bull worth an entire life of fulfilling his dreams?

No.

Dorian hung his head, “I accept your offer.”

“Then I will see you in the ring,” said Halward. He paused, as if wanting to approach Dorian, but thought better of it as he turned on his heel and left.

Something hot and heavy, sticky like tar, sat in Dorian's belly. He slowly pushed himself to his feet, melting away the ice with a wave of his hand. Why did his limbs feel so heavy? He wanted to throw up. Dorian walked out of his training room and into Bull's room, finding him sitting on the cot with his back to Dorian, shoulders hunched.

“Bull?” Dorian whispered.

The Bull said nothing.

Dorian left the room after a moment. It was never meant to be, it was foolish to think otherwise. He had to train.

The next day a little key was delivered to him when he failed to pick it up. Dorian turned it over in his fingers as he sat on the floor, thinking of all the hope this had once represented. Now it was merely a reminder. He should throw it away before he was caught with it. Instead he stuffed it in his pocket.

The Bull was still fed every day, but Dorian stopped going to see him. It would be too painful, knowing they'd face off in the ring, and that Dorian had agreed to see him killed should he win or lose. The Bull no longer had stake in this fight, did he? Dorian expected him to go for the kill before anyone could interfere. That's what Dorian would do, make sure he took down as many people as possible before he was wiped out.

Dorian slept in his training room, ears straining to hear if Bull was shifting around too much at night, wondering if he was sleeping or pacing. Wondering what was going on in his head. Did he feel betrayed? Did he see this coming? Maybe he had been planning to betray Dorian after using him to escape? Perhaps he felt nothing at all, perhaps Qunari did not feel. Dorian curled up, repeating it in his head over and over. Qunari do not feel. Qunari do not feel. They are not people. They are beasts. The Bull feels nothing.

Dorian feels everything.

The day of the Solstice dawns like any other. The Bull is removed from his cell in a clanking of chains that Dorian hears from his training room. He clenches his jaw and ignores it as he puts on his outfit piece by piece. This outfit was commissioned by the Archon himself to be worn for this fight alone. Like all _taurarius_ it can hardly be called armor. Though silverite snakes do crawl up one arm and lovingly embrace one calf. The outfit will shine in the sun, decorated generously with clear gems and diamond shaped mirrors. A blood red half-cape with the crest of Tevinter sits on his shoulder, covering his naked arm. The pants are tight, the supple leather boots fold just below his knee. He looks beautiful. Dorian doesn't feel the usual joy as he observes himself in the mirror. He feels...hollow. He shouldn't, he was about to get everything he had ever wanted. Dorian applies his make-up, a dusting of gold on his eyelids, a graceful curve of kohl. He puts on golden ear cuffs that look like dragons. The little details would not be visible to anyone far back in the stands, but Dorian never used that as an excuse to be lazy with his appearance.

The entire outfit was like the sun when he was finished. Silverite snakes, golden fabric, mirrors and gems, and finally the red half-cape. An outfit that truly suited the Solstice.

With a flare of his cape, Dorian ascended the stairs. The further up he went, the more he could hear the roaring of the crowd. This would be his biggest fight. The Bull was well fed and well rested. He knew Dorian better than anyone else in the whole world, even his own father. When he reached the ground level he was presented with a dual-bladed short staff just like the one he had been practicing with, except this was the finest weapon Dorian had ever held in his hand. Another gift from the Archon.

Others looked at him, beaming. He was about to make Tevinter proud.

Dorian swallowed down bile as he walked through the shadowed tunnel and out into the scorching Tevinter sun, the screams of the crowd nearly knocking him back. The coliseum was more full than he had ever seen it. Every row crammed full of people, from mages to Soporati, even freed slaves. Dorian went through the motions, smiling and waving to the crowd. He gave the Archon a graceful bow as across the ring a pair of guards brought out The Bull, manacled and weighed down with thick iron chains. Dorian could see guards with crossbows waiting by the entrances. No doubt to put down Bull should it look like Dorian was losing. He swallowed hard and focused back on Bull.

The crowd hissed and boo'd, but though a few people threw things they hit the magical barrier that separated the ring from the stands and fell harmlessly to the ground. The barrier was as much for their protection as for the fighters. Keeping magic in and interference out.

For the first time since Dorian had made his deal, he got to look Bull in the eye. The Qunari's expression was... perfectly blank. Dorian swallowed hard, but he had a part to play and a life to win. He pointed his staff and cried out, “Prepare to face the wrath of Tevinter, beast! Today we prove that though we are a nation of mages, free and powerful, we are also so much more! I prove today that a true Tevinter man needs no magic to defeat a beast!” The crowd screamed so loud that Dorian wondered if, even with magic enhancing his voice, they could hear him.

Every word was like acid on his tongue, but the Bull did not react in any way.

“Let the fight begin!”

At the call of the Archon himself, the guards stepped into the safety of the tunnel as iron bars lowered, locking both Dorian and The Bull in together. The chains melted away, leaving Bull in only his iron manacles. The only things he wore in the ring.

Dorian wanted to apologize, to let Bull know in some small way that he didn't want this. But it would be insulting to try, he'd made his choices, it was time to live with them. He attacked first, scooping off the half-cape to hold it over his arm as he lunged at Bull with his weapon. The Bull was fast, faster than before, and in one smooth motion merely twisted out of the way. He made a grab for Dorian that seemed almost half-hearted, and Dorian rolled below it, giving Bull a superficial cut on the belly. As always the sounds of the crowd dimmed and faded to the back of Dorian's mind. His whole world was The Bull now, the only things he could see were the tensing of his muscles as he attacked and the sound of his breathing whenever they got close enough to nearly kiss. Dorian could still see in his minds eye the way Bull's hands curled around the iron bars when Dorian was on his knees before him, could still remember being split wide by that cock when it was hard and throbbing.

More than anything else he remembered those lethal arms wrapping around him and holding him tight when he was still covered in blood. Dorian lost his balance briefly, gasping as he stumbled and Bull's fist hit him right in the gut. The Bull's eye widened, as if he were as surprised as Dorian was. The blow was pulled at the last second, but Dorian was still knocked to the ground with a cry of pain. Dorian scrambled to his feet with a pained gasped, glaring at Bull as they circled each other.

“You're throwing the fight,” he whispered, knowing no one could hear them speak, though they would know they were talking.

“Why bother when they're going to kill me anyway?” said Bull, “you'll win, you'll get everything you ever wanted, won't you, Dorian?”

“Fight me!” Dorian snarled, feeling too small for his skin, “FIGHT ME!”

“You can't make me do anything,” said Bull softly, “you are only responsible for you.”

Dorian screamed and ran at him, thrusting his blade forward at Bull's belly. It was deflected, but instead of taking advantage of Dorian's open stance, Bull merely shoved him aside, sending him skidding back through the sand. Dorian dug the balls of his feet into the ground and lunged again, this time throwing himself down at the last minute to slash his blade over Bull's calf. He left himself open again as he got to his feet, but the Bull did not take advantage of it.

“Fight me!” Dorian yelled again, ashamed to feel tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Bull!” his voice cracked and he slashed at Bull again, aiming for his face and instead getting his arms when Bull shielded himself. All the cuts bled, but were superficial, none of them would affect Bull in any way. Yet he was slowing down, playing wounded.

Dorian could feel tears tracking through the dust on his face, smearing his kohl. The Bull had weighed the options and decided if he had to die, he might as well give Dorian the life he wanted in the process. A life that would taste like ash in his mouth. A life with a foundation of murder. Dorian attacked again, and Bull lurched back so the blade merely grazed through his cheek and upper lip. A small cut, hardly worth thinking about. The Bull fell to his knees before Dorian, breathing hard as he starred up at him, single eye defiant.

“Go on, Dorian,” he whispered harshly, tilting his head up, baring his throat, “kill me.”

Dorian lifted his bladed staff over his head, hand shaking as he held it there. Dorian glanced away from Bull into the screaming crowd. He could see the Magisters all sitting together, could see the Archon already picturing the victory. He could see his Father, fists clenched at his knees and a scowl on his face. He'd wanted Dorian to lose. That was the man Dorian was giving up Bull for. These were the people he was trading for a single life. He looked back down at Bull, face tightening with resolution as he brought his other hand up around the shaft of his staff.

A deep breath, screaming fading into the background as he met Bull's eye. Bull let out a slow breath, eye slipping shut as if he couldn't bare to look at Dorian for a second longer. With a yell that echoed through the entire coliseum, Dorian slammed his blade into the sand by Bull's naked thigh, magic bursting from him with such force that Bull was knocked onto his back. A sandstorm sprung to life, fed by Dorian's rage as he threw away everything he'd worked towards. The barriers sprung to life, protecting the audience from the sand, but also blinding them to what was going on in the eye of the storm. Even their screaming couldn't penetrate the roar of the storm.

“Fuck,” Bull gasped, pushing himself to sit up again, “I thought you were really going to kill me.”

“So did I,” said Dorian, throwing his red cloak into the dirt, “but all of this,” he swept out his arm to indicate all of the coliseum, and corrupted Tevinter beyond, “isn't worth one of you.” Dorian had not given up on saving his homeland from itself, but if he couldn't do it without murdering The Bull, then it wouldn't be done right. Dorian reached down, offering his hand to Bull with a hesitant smile on his face.

“You old fop,” said Bull fondly, clasping Dorian's hand in his as he sprung to his feet, spry as ever despite the wounds currently oozing all over his body.

“Now let's go, we're going to have a hard time getting out Tevinter alive,” Dorian smirked, heart thrumming with excitement he hadn't felt in a very long time. The weight that had sat on his shoulders since accepting his Father's deal was gone, replaced with a weightlessness. If he died today, he at least died trying to do the right thing.

Dorian grabbed Bull by the hand, and they both ran for one of the gates. The storm parted before them and closed in behind them, always keeping them hidden. If the Magisters were trying to dispell it, they'd have to get through the barrier first. Dorian squinted as the iron bars appeared, the vague form of the guard with the crossbow aiming right at them. Snarling with rage, his mana boiled over inside him in the form of a wall of ice that he shot forward so hard his hand was nearly ripped from Bull's. The bars were no match, shattering before the force of his spell as he and Bull ran into the hallway to the sounds of alarm. The crossbow wielding guard was a mangled corpse against the wall, hit with the same force as the iron bars.

Everyone was too shocked to respond at first, guards jumping out of their way instead of trying to stop them. Eventually Dorian could hear booted feet on the ground behind them and he set exploding ice runes all over the floor as they ran. The cries of surprise behind him were extremely satisfying. Their good luck couldn't last forever, and a trio of guards jumped into the path ahead of them. With a fearsome roar Bull pulled ahead, bodily crashing into all of them.

“Bull you idiot!” Dorian yelled as he was forced to skid to a halt or risk tripping over the tangle of limbs now blocking the entire hallway. In moments all three guards were passed out in the hall (or dead, Dorian couldn't tell) and Bull was now naked, but with a sword. “We have got to find you some pants,” said Dorian as they started to run again.

“HA!” Bull seemed overjoyed at the madness, grinning widely as both of them flew down the hallway. “I got nothing to be ashamed of!”

Dorian let out a disgusted noise, he was running into the wilds with an exhibitionist. However Bull's wild attitude was easy to catch. They skid around a corner, natural light flowing into the hall from one of the many exits. Dorian could hear a crowd outside but he had no way of knowing if it was coliseum patrons or just normal foot traffic around the building. He supposed it didn't matter too much. There were screams of shock as a blindingly dressed _taurarius_ and a naked Qunari came running out of the coliseum. Dorian grabbed Bull's hand again and urged him into the teaming crowd that nearly fell over each other trying to get out of their way.

A pair of Alti on enormous black stallions were riding down the road, some slaves following behind on horses of their own. The horses looked big enough to take Bull's weight so Dorian threw out his hand, sending small spears of ice to punch the Alti out of their saddles before they could respond. The Bull grabbed one of the slave's horses and slapped it on the rump, sending it rearing up and running in a panic, which set off all the other horses.

Dorian grabbed one of the stallions by the reins as it reared up, looking wild-eyed and dangerous. The Bull was already mounted by the time Dorian got onto his horse and he wheeled it around, kicking his heels into its flank to send it galloping towards the end of the city. Alarms were starting to go off behind them, cries of: “Stop that man! Stop that Qunari!” that could barely be heard over the pounding hooves of their horses.

An arrow whizzed past Dorian's head, and he threw up a barrier around both of them just in time to stop another arrow from punching into the back of Bull's skull. If he'd thought he was an outcast before, he _certainly_ was now. His outfit and Bull's...everything... made them shamefully easy to spot, but Dorian didn't have any solutions beyond outrun the pursuit and get out of Minrathous. Alive, preferably. Dorian looked over his shoulder to see mages riding up behind them, and with his barrier up Dorian couldn't cast a single thing to stop them.

“Leave this to me!” Bull yelled, he grinned at Dorian as if fleeing for his life was the most fun he'd ever had. He was still holding the sword stolen from the guard in the coliseum and Dorian darted his attention from the road before them and what Bull was doing. He seemed to be waiting for something. They galloped into the heart of the elven slums, people screaming and dodging away from them as Dorian led the way to the quickest path out of the city and into the countryside beyond. The mages were getting closer by the second.

“Bull!” Dorian cried out as a spear of ice thunked through the half-rotted wood of the hovel they were rushing past.

“Just... A-HA!” Bull threw the sword with all of his not inconsiderable strength. The blade sliced into a rope which was holding up piles of wood for repairs on the upper levels of a home. The logs and boards came clattering down, horses screaming and tripping, falling into the dirt and throwing their riders.

“Ha HA!” Dorian laughed triumphantly as they left the groaning mages in the dust.

They were going to make it! Dorian turned the horses around a sharp corner, already seeing countryside through the crooked alleyways of the slums. Once they were out there was just nice smooth riding, and these big horses had a lot more in them.

Just when they were about to leave the slums, a man on a horse appeared at the end of the alley, blocking them off. Dorian yelled and wrenched on the reins, sending his horse into a rear with a scream. Bull's own horse nearly threw him as they were forced to stop.

“Dorian!” It was Halward, he must have left the coliseum before anyone else and mounted one of the finest horses in the coliseum to beat them here. “Dorian! You would throw away your entire life for this!?”

“Out of my way!” Dorian snarled, keeping the barrier up for fear of what his father would do. “I'm done living a lie!”

“D-”

“Out of my way!” Dorian barked again, “Unless you wish fight your own son...again! And this time Father... I won't leave you able to come after me!” He panted harshly, stallion dancing under him with the urge to run again.

Halward stood his ground for a moment, hand reaching back for his staff. Dorian tensed for a fight when... Halward sighed, slouching as all the energy seemed to leak out of him. “Fine... I have no son, begone.” He moved his horse out of the way, gaze burning as he watched Dorian.

“Dorian,” said Bull softly, nudging his horse forward, “Let's go.”

“Yes,” said Dorian, touching the amulet around his neck, “Let's.”

There was a lot of Tevinter left to ride through before they reached Orlais, a lot of wilderness to traverse, a lot of life left to live. As himself. Dorian kicked his heels and sent his stallion running into the open fields beyond. He didn't doubt they were still being chased, but was confident they had enough of a head start that no one would bother coming after them for long. Dorian glanced to the side, grinning as Bull grinned back at him. He yelled and spurred his eager horse on faster, laughing into the rushing wind with an abandon as he crashed headlong into the wild unknown.


End file.
